plastic swans are threatened; deck chairs, yellow towels, barbecues stand naked to the peril, as if it were winter come by stealth. still later, in the lee of dark and warmth, we probe the ancient fear: at night the sea is safer under glass, the crude, wild thing half tamed to shed its past -- galleons sent to fifty fathoms, mountains hacked to rubble, cities stripped. at night, the sea, barbaric bellows stifled, sprawls outside the window, framed like a dark, unruly landscape. behind us is a darker kind of dark: i watch your eyes for signals. the music makes a pause for prophecy: 'tomorrow, off-shore breezes and warmth to each other's warmth,' we do not listen." >> that was how long ago? >> 1968. >> you had been married -- >> we had been married 18 years, at that point. >> how does love change from then to now? >> it's more profound and more essential. it was very strong right from the beginning. we met on the first day of french class at northwestern university in 1946. and we've been together ever since. >> she became a playwright, didn't she? >> she was a playwright. and her plays